


There Once was a Cat named Pouch

by Of_Liberty_and_Legacy



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Cats, Fluff and Crack, Lots of Cats, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, No Spoilers, literally the prompt was 'cats and happiness'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 06:25:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7703938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Liberty_and_Legacy/pseuds/Of_Liberty_and_Legacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Where’s the cat? Bucky said there was a cat. Sam, did you see the cat? Sam, where is the cat?”  Steve’s eyes were wild and blue as they dragged up and down Sam’s body as if Sam had shoved the cat down his shirt or something. </p><p>X o X o X o X o X o X o X o X o X o X o X o X o X o X o X o X o X o X o X o X o X o X o X o X </p><p>Steve + Cats + Happiness</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Once was a Cat named Pouch

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my bro, who wanted Steve to be happy and also cats. So, here you go :)

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“Steve, what the hell are you doing man??” Sam wondered that, if he had known what sort of shit superheroes get into on their days off, would he have been so quick to join Steve when he needed help all those months ago. Then he snorted, realising no amount of stupid shit is gonna keep him from being there for Steve.

The same stupid fucker who was currently on his roof. In his pyjamas. As in, drawstring tracksuit bottoms. And nothing else. Ok then. Sam could see his cute neighbour Maya looking out of her kitchen window. Possibly concerned. More probably because Steve was shirtless and those pants hung _real_ low and were _real_ tight.

“Steve?” This is what he gets for letting them live in his house and eat his food. This is what he deserves for trying to get the groceries before the afternoon rush, before the PTA moms got out of their meeting in the community hall.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you on my roof?” 

“There was a cat.” Christ Wilson, keep it together man.

“A cat?”

“Yeah. I can’t find it.” Allegedly, Steve thought this was sound logic for climbing up on Sam’s roof.

“Ok.” A deep breath in, hold it, let it all out. “Where’s your sniper?”

“Who, Buck?” No, your other sniper Jesus H. Christ Steve. “Or Clint?” Ok, fair enough.

“Either. Both” The bags of groceries were getting kinda heavy, not that Sam would ever admit to it.

Just at that second, Sam heard scuffling coming from under the porch. Clint Barton, fresh band aid across his eyebrow and blond hair full of dirt, popped his head out, smiling disarmingly up at Sam. “Yo.”

“You don’t even live here.”

“Steve needed help.” Clint began to wriggle around, trying somewhat successfully to get out.

“Bucky’s checking the around the back. For the cat.” Apparently, in the time it took Clint to shuffle out from under the porch, Steve had jumped off the roof and was standing next to Sam. 

“Ok. Right. Ok, lemme just put this shit inside and I’ll help you look.” Christ, the stuff he does for his boys.

Even Steve’s sunshine smile was out-shone by Clint’s small smirk.

Jesus. He was too gay for this shit.

 

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The thing is, Sam knows, that without a doubt, cats are Steve’s favourite animal ever. According to him, there is something so nice about cats. Small and adorable, with their little noses and paws. It helped that, when he was younger, when he was smaller and when ‘bananas tasted like bananas and not just some cruel mockery of bananas’, cats seemed to be the only animals that he wasn't allergic to.

 Bucky liked cats too, in the beginning mainly for Steve’s sake but grew to love them as much as Steve did. There used to be a big angry ginger tom cat that hung around their fire escape in their apartment way back when. Bucky had called him Pouch and Steve had valiantly tried to coax him into the apartment, offering scraps of food that they couldn’t afford. And every winter when Steve's health deteriorated and his chest rattled like a bag of bones with every breath, Pouch would sit outside on the windowsill looking in on the bedroom, in at Steve all laid up in bed with the flu, or pneumonia, or Scarlet fever. Pouch refused every attempt to bring him into the relative warmth of the two room apartment. Steve told them that Pouch was the only one he had to say goodbye to, when he left for boot camp. Bucky wondered what had happened to the ragged cat who purred like a plane engine.

 

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The first time Sam sees the cat, Steve isn’t even home, gone jogging for the third time that day. It’s small and sleek, a tabby with one and a half ears sitting pretty on the porch looking up at Sam standing in the doorway. He crouches down, and tries to call it over.

“Come on, kitty cat, c’mere.” Sam didn’t know animals could look so scornful, yet here they were. Sam liked cats well enough, but could admit that he favoured dogs, something Clint agreed with. Its eyes are big and orange, and it blinked slowly at him before sliding over to his outstretched hand. It bumped it once with its head before staring of into the middle distance and sauntering away.

“Hmm.” Sam nearly jumps a mile. Standing behind him are both Bucky and Clint, the former texting lightning fast and the latter shirtless and drinking coffee from the pot.

“I hate you both.” Sam stood up, closing the door before rounding around, pointing aggressively at the two. “And, Barton?? What the hell? Put a shirt on, what’ll the neighbours think?” Sam was fooling no one.  

Sam was two steps away from the door when it burst open, Steve standing there in all his gross, sweaty glory.

“Where’s the cat? Bucky said there was a cat. Sam, did you see the cat? Sam, _where is the cat?”_  Steve’s eyes were wild and blue as they dragged up and down Sam’s body as if Sam had shoved the cat down his shirt or something.

“Jesus. Um, number one, I think you may have been under exaggerating when you said that you liked cats. Number two, dude, chill, it was here like a second ago, it’s not gone far.”

“A black and white cat?”

“No?? A tabby with like half a left ear.”

Steve’s eyes got really wide and he whipped his head around to look at Bucky, who was staring at him with the same intensity.

“There’s more than one.”

 

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Steve had managed to tempt not only the small tabby Sam had met but also the black and white cat into the house. The tabby they, or more accurately, Bucky, called Francis. The black and white one had been named Pudge until Thor (what the hell even was Sam’s life anymore _, Jesus_ ) dropped down to visit and renamed her in accordance to his favourite dish, Poptarts.

 

It wasn’t uncommon to walk into the sitting room and see Bucky lounging on the sofa with one or both of the cats on his lap or see them sitting on Steve’s shoulders as he drew in the evening light. It was nice. Peaceful. Therapeutic.

 

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“What’s with the cats, bird-boy Jr?” Whiskey in hand, Tony seemed content to poke fun at the numerous cats roaming around Sam’s house. Sam doesn’t exactly know when his house became the official resting stop for the superhero on the go, but he wasn’t complaining. The original two had blossomed into five, with the addition of three kittens Clint had found in a back alley or something. Five, apparently, was a nice round number of cats, and so Steve was happy. Now, along with Francis and Poptarts, they had Eliza, Alice and Nicolas, all of them with a pretty calico coloured coat except for Alice, who had a solid black coat. And all of them at the age where they want to climb curtains and run around after each other before dropping like a stone to sleep.

“According to the good captain, cats are essential to proper home living. No home is complete without a cat.”

Steve walked in, carrying Nicolas, “Cats are good for the soul,” he proclaimed, before placing Nicolas in Tony’s lap, winking at Sam and leaving presumably to find Bucky.

Tony scoffed in answer and rolled his eyes but Sam saw the small upward tick of his mouth when Nicolas settled in his lap and purred when Tony ran his finger down his spine. Maybe cats were better therapy than Sam had originally thought. 

 

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Nicolas went home with a slightly confused but still very happy Tony, who was unwilling to admit to his loneliness now that he and Pepper were split up. Steve watched them walk down the steps toward Tony’s car with a smile, happy that his friend was happy.

He turned back to Sam, saying, “One down,” before he turned and went back inside, leaving a very confused Sam on the porch.

 

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It was slightly surreal for Sam to see the king of an _entire country_ lying on his floor, cooing at a cat who couldn’t care less. Francis continued his mid-afternoon staring into space session with zero regard for the king in his midst. Alice, however, found Challa’s ring adorned fingers very captivating, leaping from the coffee table to attack. The two played together until it was time for Challa to leave. Alice yowled for half an hour after the king had gone and it was a surprise to no one when Challa came back to claim the small cat.

“I am sorry but she looks like a panther, I can’t just leave her.”

 

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The weekly updates they received from Challa of pictures and videos of Alice lounging on the king’s throne and sleeping on assumedly important documents were a welcome surprise.

 

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Eliza was asleep on his pillow and Sam wouldn’t mind if it were not for the fact that _Clint was also sleeping on it._

 

They were down to just Eliza and Francis now. Thor had taken Poptarts to give to ‘his Lady Jane’ and now Eliza was on Sam’s pillow. He didn’t know exactly how the two events were connected but there was no doubt in his mind that they were. She was sleeping and probably getting little calico hairs all over his lovely goose down pillow that his mom had given him and he _didn’t know what to do._  Not because of the cat but because Clint Fucking Barton was sleeping in his bed and was all curled up on his side and was making little snuffly snores and it shouldn’t have been as adorable as it was.  

 

Jesus.

 

Ok.

 

Just.

 

Back away slowly Wilson, nobody gets hurt except-

 

Clint was awake. Blinking blearily at him.

 

“Sam.”

 

“Uh, hey there.”

 

Eliza shifted and looked up. Yawned, showing off her pearly whites before dropping her head down and nodding off again.

 

Clint made a noise and moved slightly.

 

“Am I in your bed?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Oh. Uh. Sorry, I guess.” Clint moved to get up and Sam suddenly couldn’t see anything wrong with sharing his bed and goose down pillows with the ex-circus performer. He was hit with the sudden realisation that he was super gay for Clint. Like, he was gay usually, but, this was like, the next level of gay.

 

“Nah, stay.” Sam slipped into his room fully and slid under the sheets, Clint watching him wearily the entire time. They lay in the dark for a second, both of them staring at the ceiling, the only sound being Eliza’s quiet snores.  

 

“So. I’m super gay for you.” Sam winced, regretting his words immediately.

 

“Aren’t you always gay?”

 

“Yeah, but I’m _super_ gay for you.”

 

“Just for me?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Clint huffed a laugh, overwhelmingly personal and intimate in the quiet and the darkness, rolling over to look at Sam.

 

“Well, I’m super gay for you too.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

They lay in the darkness smiling at each other like two idiots. All gross happiness and stuff.

 

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Steve was a sneaky prick and Bucky loved him. Not only had he sent Clint into Sam’s room earlier in the evening all Good Samaritan like “Sam won’t be home for another few hours-” “I’ll wake you up, don’t worry-” “You need your sleep Clint-” but then, he had heavily hinted for Sam to go the bed the second he got in the door.

 

The second Sam’s door closed Steve did a little victory jig before hopping into bed beside Bucky, carefully rearranging Francis until everyone was comfortable and happy. He slipped an arm around Bucky’s waist and sighed.   

 

“What I tell ya’ Buck? Cats. They’re good for the soul.”

 

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**Author's Note:**

> Haven't reread it, its certainly not edited. Any mistakes are mine and mine alone


End file.
